


Foreground | Background

by imperfectkreis



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fights, Oral Sex, Prostitution, Roughness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-09
Updated: 2015-04-09
Packaged: 2018-03-22 01:27:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3709732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectkreis/pseuds/imperfectkreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before becoming Inquisitor, Trevelyan made some questionable life choices, given that she was a noble with too much time and too little sense.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreground | Background

Sabina Trevelyan winds through the narrow alleys of Kirkwall like she knows them. She doesn’t, but she knows spaces, the contrasts between foreground and background, empty places in between. In her hand, a not-so pretty thing from Lowtown, wanting to take her home. She already knows he doesn’t have a home, not really. Only he thought that he needed one for her to follow. As always, she leads. 

He pushes her up against the stone, too eager to wait for shelter. She laughs and exposes her throat, because she’s bold. A commoner, an addict at that, could never touch her in a way she would dispise. She’d string him up before that ever happened. Make his body into a pretty pincushion with knives and nails and teeth. 

A hand at her waist, moving upwards under her tunic to paw at her breast. Sabina has the power to conceal them from view, cloak them from prying eyes, but why bother? If someone is privileged enough to watch, let them. 

Her head spins with wine and harder things. His erection against her leg doesn’t bother her much. A mouth that tastes of lyrium. It’s between his teeth. Disgusting. 

“You looked so delicious, coming out of the Hanged Man,” he whispers against the side of her face. He’s tall, and Sabina is not used to that, feeling like a small thing in another’s grasp. His hips thrust against hers recklessly. He’s as far gone as she is, though on different vices. Her hand slips to the front of his breeches, kneading harder than she should until he gasps in pain. She likes that.

“And you look a wreck,” she snarls, opening the front of his breeches, allowing him no space to protest. Her teeth sink into his lip until he smashes her head back against the stone of the building at her back.

“You bitch,” he makes to hit her across her face, but she is swifter, grabbing his wrist in one hand and twisting it at the wrong angle until he screams. The noise bounces between the walls, moving up and up into the night. Sabina hopes many people woke to his pain. 

She smiles, using her other hand to stroke his still-hard cock. “Maybe, but you’re less than that.”

“I think you like being called out for what you are, little girl.” His breath smells sticky-sweet, like the drug in his system. Sabina wants to taste it, just a little. Stamp out the tang of cheap liquor. 

Instead of responding she captures his lips, kissing and kissing until he’s straining, until he’s chasing her lips instead of the other way around. She’ll make him dance for her, even if he doesn’t think himself capable. 

Pulling his tunic up and over his head, she intends to strip him bare where they stand. Fuck public indecency. She’ll have him as she wants him, naked, groveling. Under his shirt he’s sick and pale, cut through with scars that attest to the fact that he wasn’t always this weak. Of course not. Sabina isn’t stupid. She knows templars, knows how easy they are, how obedient. This one is particularly malleable, cut off from his pack as he is. Her fingers dip into the grooves of his hashmarked hide.

“What about you, girl, you gonna show me some skin?” He grinds his body against hers. For the first time, Sabina realizes how strong he still is. His hands grip at her waist, lifting her off the ground and pinning her to the wall at her back. Her feet barely graze the ground when she points her toes. “I bet you’re real soft, real pretty.”

Sabina growls, “And sharp.” 

She kicks out, her boot landing in his stomach. In shock, he releases her before stumbling over, clutching at his waist. No point in aiming lower than that, she still wants to have her fun with him. Darting forward, she knocks him to the ground. She grabs at his face until she finds purchase, pulling him up and smashing the back of his head against the road.

“Are you going to question me again?” Sabina sure hopes he’s not going to. Because after that little display her head is the one spinning. She sits against his chest, legs straddling his bare torso. The rise and fall of his heavy breathing pushes against her core. 

He grabs her wrists in one of his hands, wrenching them away from her body. “You’re insane.”

Laughter bubbles from her lips. She doesn’t even try to struggle. “I know. Wait, no! I’m just…”

“Do you want this?” His hips roll up, the outline of his length just barely grazing her back. 

“Yes, of course I do.”

With his free hand on her hip, he flips them over. Her back hits the stone and she realizes how cold it is. How brutal. The addict’s hands are at her tunic, pulling it apart, flaying her open. She didn’t bother herself with a breast band today. Her dark nipples are already hard when his mouth covers one, biting fierce on the first go.

“You’re an asshole,” she seethes, liking it all the same. Her body vibrates at the intensity. 

He doesn’t respond, just bites down harder, almost to the point where Sabina worries he doesn’t know when to stop. But he does, pulling back, nipping at the other. 

“I’m Samson, and I bet you taste sweet, noble girl.” His hands are at her breeches, pulling apart the laces with a frantic pace, pushing down the fabric until it cinches her thighs. 

“I’m not noble. Take off your pants first.” The last fucking thing she’s doing is offering her name. 

His listens, stripping bare without any feigning of decency or dignity. They’re not alone. She can feel the eyes haunting darkened windows. Only this isn’t a sight that is so very unusual in Lowtown. Sabina doesn’t pretend she’s special. 

“Of course you are, I can smell it on you. Think I haven’t fucked girls like you before?”

“I want to see your cock, templar.” If he will call her by the name she wants to bury in the sand off the coast, she will call him what he is.

“Oh?” He only bothers to pull his cock out from the confines of his smallclothes, not bothering to shed them completely. Not the prettiest she’s seen, but it’s hard and fat, pressed against his abdomen as it is. “What of it, noble girl?”

“If I’m so noble,” she pushes at his shoulder. Predictably, he yields, backing away from her so she can sit up. “Are you expecting something in return?”

The addict smiles at that. “Are you asking if I’m a whore? When we’re already here? Just before I slick my cock in your tight little cunt?”

Sabina laughs because when she leads, he follows, and he can’t even conceptualize as much. He kneels before her, shirtless, cock out, and he doesn’t even realize how vulnerable he is. She may be half-clothed as well, but that matters little to her. 

She makes it to her feet, though she wobbles a bit. The addict tries to stand too, but a gentle press on his shoulder is enough to keep him down. Not bothering with her boots, she pushes her trousers down just a little further. Were she a man, she would fuck him like this, with her shirt open, still on her shoulders, pants pulled down only far enough to expose her straining cock. But she doesn’t have a cock. Instead, she spreads her legs just a touch, presses her cunt to his face.

“Work, whore.”

And he does, lapping at her with such viciousness Sabina knows she made the right decision, picking him over the prettier faces in the Hanged Man. Because templars, even washed up, discarded ones, are good. They’re obedient. And this one is disposable. He parts her folds with two fingers, spreading her so he can better service her. Grinding against his face, she pushes him back, back, until his head is against the wall. One hand tangles in his dark hair, holding him in place against against her pelvis. 

She can feel his moans against her skin, the way he works his cock in one hand. He’s not trying to bring himself off, only to stay hard. Fool still thinks he’s going to fuck her. Maybe on a different day, if the mood had struck her, she wouldn’t be opposed. But she likes this one better as she has him now. Moving her hand, she lets his head bounce against the wall as she smothers him. 

He’s good with his lips and tongue, better than she could have expected really, for a piece of garbage she picked up. Coaxing it from her, he stays soft as she pushes hard, working her in slow circles, quickening at intervals until she clutches both her hands in his hair.

“Yes.” The his of his words against her cunt. “Come, pretty, noble girl.”

When she does she grabs at him so hard she’s surprised his hair doesn’t come out in fistfuls. She pulls him away, though from his outstretched tongue, she can tell he wasn’t finished. Her eyes close, breathe, opens them again. If she moves too fast she might topple over, though the cloud of alcohol has passed somewhat. 

From her pocket she pulls a handful of coins, dropping a few silver ones at the addict’s thighs. He’s still hard, heavy breathing.

“What the fuck! I’m not a whore,” his lip curls, baring broken teeth. Those teeth were on her, moments before. She doesn’t feel sick, but mildly accomplished. 

“Do you want to buy lyrium or not?” She stows the rest of her coin away, having already spent more than enough. Could have gotten as much for free. But she sort of pities him. 

“I don’t need your charity. I need your cunt.” Still unknowingly on his knees, he throws the coins down the alley, into the darkness.

“Now you’ve got neither, idiot.” She finishes doing up the buttons on her tunic. 

As she walks away, she can hear him cursing. Not even under his breath, it’s loud, angry, building. About fucking Kirkwall and Ostwick and all the Marches. About pretty girls who think they’re worth something to the world. Curses the templars too and the leash he cannot break.

Sabina is only happy she’ll never see him again. Even though she’s out of his line of sight, she can still hear him. Taking powder from her pocket, she becomes a wave of stealthed shimmers, passing through the spaces others do not yet know exist.


End file.
